


Adrift

by eLJay



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4128804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eLJay/pseuds/eLJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war there was white silk enough for a gown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adrift

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own anyone you recognize.
> 
> The title is truly terrible but it was the only halfway-decent one that presented itself as I was attempting to name it.

_After the war there was white silk enough for a gown._

_The men had bickered for days over who would be the one to give her away. When the disagreement had threatened to devolve into fisticuffs she’d leveled a look at them, one that caused Gabe to recede into his seat. “Were you planning to put a ring through my nose and lead me down the aisle by a rope?” she’d asked. The point was quickly taken, and the men watched from the pews of the little church as she walked alone toward the altar and her groom._

_(No one had dared offer himself as best man.)_

_She thought she saw Dum Dum brush away tears before her attention returned to Steven, glowing and golden-haired, like a stained-glass St George come to life. In his smile she saw the man she had fallen in love with, seemingly another lifetime ago. Their kiss was enough to make the Commandos live up to their name, and for the first time in ages she blushed and then laughed, feeling alight with joy._

_That night, as he worked at the long line of buttons down her back she made some silly, nervous remark about feeling all day as though she’d been wearing a parachute. It still seemed like a waste, she thought, plucking at the skirt; but it had been Howard’s gift, delivered after a cheerless day of weighing options. Every shop had only functional suits, little improved by a brooch or scarf. Worse still, every seamstress had a picture of a man in uniform--a son or brother or husband or father--on the wall and a tight grimness to her congratulations to the happy couple. So though she did not dwell on who the dress might have originally been made for, she wore it, and made a note to send Howard a picture along with their thanks._

_“Well, you know,” Steve said, delicately popping free the last button, low on the small of her back, “I’ve never had much use for parachutes.” He pushed the sleeves down from her shoulders with aching slowness, and in a fit of sudden giddiness she realized that there was_ time _. They had time for this–for him to press his lips against her shoulder and then turn her gently toward him, for her to kiss him the way she’d always wanted to, her fingers threaded through his hair. Now they did not have to worry about public appearances or interruptions or fraternization; now they had only to worry about each other: about shivers left in the wake of the slide of skin against skin, about the languid sway of an unaccompanied dance. The whole world had been in a mad rush for so many years, careening from horror and loss finally, finally to the respite of surrender and a victory of sorts; and though she and he knew it was only a space of peace, only a brief rest before their work went on, it was long enough for her to breathe. She laid her head on his chest and felt his arms enfolding her, and for a moment they were the center of the universe. For a moment, long and perfect, she felt the world turning around them._

The gentle cough from her bedside rouses her and she blinks the haze of years from her eyes. At first she thinks he hasn’t changed a bit, her golden-haired love, though a second look reveals a strange age to his eyes, a smile very nearly worried. “I’ve missed you, darling,” she says, “you’ve been gone for so long.”

His hand around hers is just as big and warm and gentle as she remembers. “I’m sorry, Peg,” he says, sadder than he ought to be, voice thick as he adds, “I missed you, too.”

Try as she might, she can’t quite focus on his face; her gaze drifts away, past him, to the clear sky above the chapel, to the sound of his heart beating beneath her ear. Her own voice sounds distant. “I think I’ve been dreaming, Steve.”

She doesn’t quite understand why a tear slides down his cheek, but she reaches a trembling hand to wipe it away. He squeezes his eyes shut, the brave, reckless, sensitive boy, and turns his face into her hand, kisses her wizened palm. Eventually he clears his throat and asks, “Good dreams?”

“Wonderful, darling.” She closes her eyes with a smile, and sighs, “You were wonderful.”


End file.
